Next to Normal
by JCBoLt
Summary: DRAMA LLAMA Courtney stop... Okay this is a story with JC and CB so enjoy... GENDER BENT-ooh, ouch, did that elbow smash hurt JC? YES IT DID. Genderbent Sherlock. AUGH. PAIN. Oh and we added a character-SAM CROWLEY. And remember. Sherlock is not a manwoman. ENJOY! (oh and i picked the title -CB) (stfu and let them read -JC)
1. Just Another Day

**A/N: Sherlock is not a manwoman. Contrary to CBuscus belief. So guys, this is JC. I'm in bold. This is m-OUR new story about things. THINGS. CBUSCUS IM EMBARRASSING MYSELF HALP.**

_**JC? It's 1 in the morning is everything okay?**_

**Everything's great. Why wouldn't it be great? I've got a fanfiction to write and I need food and it's all stressful... *downs Coke* It's great!**

_**You need to take some time for yourself. I'm going to eat an entire box of cereal.**_

**Thank you for not doing things to my father. In other news, CBuscus's house smells like CHEERIOS. GODDANG CHEERIOS. MAKE IT STOP.**

_**Maybe we should just, like, let the people read what we have...**_

**NOOOO NEVER YOU WONT SILEN- ****_*slams hand on JC's mouth*_**** Mmk.**

**onwrrrrd**

* * *

"Ladies and gentlefish, get ready because though I am not certified as a pilot, I'm pretty sure we just ran out of gas... so yeah... PREPARE FOR LANDING!" The plane started to go down, but before the nose took a plunge into the Atlantic Ocean, Sherlock woke with a start, gasping for air and glancing around the surprisingly not falling airplane.

"Excuse me ma'am, can I get you something to drink?" a flight attendant asked. Sherlock defiantly shook her head no and shoved her headphones back in her ears. The last thing she needed was to be plagued by a stupid nightmare. A small giggle sounded from behind Sherlock as a merciless 8 year old began to beat on the back of her seat.

_Oh, for God's sake,_ she thought, thinking of all of the awful things she could do to that demon behind her. She whipped around to face the boy, glaring angrily at him. "Do you mind?!" she said in that British accent of hers.

"Whoa. Are you Hermione?" She raised an eyebrow at him and glanced down at the pile of Harry Potter books overflowing from his Gryffindor drawstring bag.

"Why, of course!" She laughed as the boy's eyes seemed to pop out of his small head. "Of course, I can't do magic here... then the muggles would figure me out," she whispered. "So, you can't tell anyone," She glanced around and realized that his name was stitched on his pillow, "Aaron." He gasped slightly, eyes still bulging at the fact that the pretend wizard knew his name.

He nodded a little and whispered back, "Oh right, I wouldn't want you to be thrown in Azkaban."

"Thank you. Now, I'm going to listen to my music, alright? Don't kick my seat. I have a good handle on that Bat Bogies hex now, and I wouldn't want you to be the first person I use it on." He looked genuinely scared as Sherlock turned back around and put her earphones back in, turning on her all-time favorite song, "Who Are You," which was by her second favorite band, "The Who."

Although she would never tell anyone, her favorite was "One Direction."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock was really glad he didn't say gentlefish. "This is your Captain speaking. We will be landing at your destination in about one hour. Thank you for flying American." How ironic. If there was one place Sherlock did not want to be more than anywhere else in the world, it would be America.

_Well, I've heard that Haiti is in rather awful shape... _She decided to go over the plan once more in her head so as she wouldn't mess up. _The man on the wire told me that I had to wait until everyone had left to get my luggage. He said I would meet someone outside of the terminal. Right._ _I don't understand why I'd have to wait, though. I believe I'm the only one on this dreaded plane that's wearing jeans and an overcoat. _

Sherlock slipped into yet another dream and woke up in a daze screaming "Polyjuice Potion!" at the top of her lungs. She realized that the plane was landed and shot up, smacking her head on the top compartments. She jumped off of the plane and was immediately struck by the scorching summer heat of southern California.

"Oh God." She gathered up her things and walked out of the empty terminal to see a blonde woman awkwardly twirling a set of keys on her index finger. She was looking around the empty room aimlessly until her eyes landed on Sherlock, who was already sweating like a pig.

"You must be the British one."

"No," Sherlock drawled out sarcastically. "As a matter of fact, I happen to be from Kansas."

"I'm hinting some sarcasm there, probably brought on by the fact that your face is glistening with sweat," the blonde one said. "Dude, you do realize it's, like, a million degrees outside, right? And you're wearing... tweed."

"Actually, if it was 'like, a million degrees outside'," Sherlock said, horribly mimicking the blonde girl's accent, "then you and I would have melted quite a few hours ago. Please, if you're going to try to irritate me, be factually correct."

"Alright, Sheldon Cooper." Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Oh, please tell me you know who that is."

"No, I don't, sorry." The blonde sighed and murmured something about how 'this is going to be the longest week of my life.'

"Whatever, let's just go. The name's Sam, by the way. Sam Crowley." She turned around and started to walk towards the door, Sherlock pulling her very heavy luggage along. "Let's go, slow poke! Move!" the blonde said, annoyed.

"Maybe... if I had some help..." Sherlock complained. Sam shrugged and grabbed one of her two bags. _How heavy could one bag be?_

"Dude, what'd you put in that, rocks?"

"No, I simply packed a few things that I'll need for... _detective-ing_." The two dragged the bags to the topless Jeep and tossed them into the trunk. Sherlock went around the car and sat in the driver's seat, still entirely confused about the concept of American cars.

"No, no, no, Brit. That's _my_ seat," Sam said, pulling Sherlock out of the car. "You're on the right." Sherlock cocked her head to the side slightly.

"What?"

"These cars are different. You aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy." Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"I got that reference!" Sam rolled her eyes and pushed her into the passenger's seat.

"Get in and do not speak."

"Why?"

"No. No. Don't speak."

* * *

They drove in silence the entire way to Sherlock's new abode. She was too busy staring at everything in amazement and blasting the air conditioning in her face to actually say anything.

"Dude, take off your jacket," Sam finally said after about fifteen minutes.

"Um... That's not a great idea, Sam."

"Look, it's 90 degrees out and you're wearing long sleeves. You are going to have a heat stroke." Sherlock shrugged and took off her jacket, which lead to a loud clang of multiple pieces of metal. "What was that?"

"Um, nothing?" Sam pulled over and grabbed Sherlock's jacket, which was halfway lined with knives.

"What the heck? How on Earth did you get past security with 20 knives in your pockets?"

"Well, they're for self-defense, first off. Secondly, this coat isn't exactly all tweed. It wasn't too hard to get through security."

"Dude! What if they thought you were a terrorist?"

"I would simply pull out my BFI badge and they would understand."

"It's FBI."

"Oh."

"And where did you get a badge? I thought you worked for, like, that British Lawn or whatever..."

"It's _Scotland Yard_, dear. And, honestly, I didn't realize that I don't have a badge yet. I guess I got lucky or something." Sam cringed and put her free hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Don't call me dear. It's weird."

"Right love, sorry." Sam sighed and pulled back onto the road.

"Yeah, don't call me that, either. That's just plain creepy." They drove in silence again for another ten minutes before Sherlock fell asleep on Sam's arm. "Crap." Sam pulled her arm out from under Sherlock's head and Sherlock fell on the armrest of Sam's seat. She immediately woke up and rubbed the side of her head.

"Ow." Sam showed no sympathy.

"Deal with it."

"Rude much?"

"Yes, yes I am." They arrived at the beach house not five minutes later, though it seemed like much longer because Sherlock spent all of it glaring at the side of Sam's head. "Why don't you look at something other than my face?" Sam asked, still looking straight ahead.

"I'm actually looking at your ear, thank you. There is a difference." A handsome young man appeared in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"I see you brought Sheldon Cooper along for the ride?"

"Please refrain from using that reference. I don't understand it."

Sam stepped out of the car and walked to the trunk. "Sheldon, meet Mike." Sherlock shot Sam the nastiest glare she could muster while sweating crazily.

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mike." She held out her fist, which Mike regarded awkwardly. "What? Does no one here do fist bumps? I'm rather fond of them myself." Sam opened the trunk and pulled one of the suitcases onto the ground rather hard.

"Sherlock? Quick question."

"Yes?"

"Did your parents, like, hate you or something?" She pulled out the second bag, which was heavier than the previous. Sherlock's shoulders sagged and she raised her eyebrows curtly at Sam.

"They died when I was six. Thanks for asking, you insensitive prick." Mike walked over to Sam and grabbed the bags, pulling out the handles.

"Smooth one, Sammy."

"Watch out for my microscope, alright, Mike? Don't want that broken."

"Yes, master," he teased. Sherlock rolled her eyes and grabbed the heavier bag from his hands.

"If you don't mind."

Mike shrugged and looked over at Sam. "You coming, Princess?"

"Don't you dare call me that," she growled. Sam walked up to the house and opened the door, letting it shut in Sherlock's face. She grinned and called through the door, "It locks behind you, Redcoat."

Sherlock rolled her eyes and pulled a hammer out of her bag, bashing in the doorknob.

"Not anymore."

Mike ran up behind her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't know how they open doors in England, but over here we twist and pull the doorknob."

"I like the hammer better. It's far more fun than doorknobs. Also, it locks outside, and your wonderful companion here decided to lock me out. Luckily, I came prepared with my dearest mallet. I once destroyed a vacuum with this."

Mike just rolled his eyes. "It doesn't lock behind you. She just tells all the newbies that."

"Oh, so she lied? Well, I guess it's a good thing I do have my mallet."

"You know, when Briggs comes back, you're going to have to explain to him what happened to the doorknob."

"Don't worry, love," Sherlock said, reaching up and patting Mike's head, "I'm _rich_."

Mike grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "Yeah... around here, we kind of don't do nicknames."

"Oh really? It's sort of a habit." She wrenched her wrist out of Mike's grasp and bounced off to her room. "I'll be unpacking!"

Sam looked up from her drink as she saw Sherlock come in. "Third floor, turn right, second room to your left."

"Aha, thank you, Yank."

"Not a problem, Redcoat."

Mike followed her up the stairs to Sherlock's temporary room at half the speed, dropping off her luggage and promptly leaving.

"Thank you, Mike," Sherlock called, bouncing around her room like an overexcited child.

"Yeah, no problem," Mike called from the top of the stairs.

"Whoa, is this a walk in closet?" Sherlock walked in the closet and shut the door, effectively locking herself in her own closet. "I NEED MY MALLET!" Mike was already at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at the sound of Sherlock but chose to ignore it, thinking she was just squealing about her new room or something. "Did you give her candy or something before you came here? She's bouncing off the walls."

"Mike, she's 25. I think she's just normally like that," Sam replied. "Why did she just scream about her mallet?"

"I don't know, but don't give it to her."

Mike and Sam started up a conversation while, upstairs, Sherlock was banging on the door to her closet like a madwoman.

_So this is it. I'll probably be stuck here for the rest of my life... Goodbye, cruel world. I guess I'll never see Isaac again... or ride on a double decker bus... I'll just die in this closet and rot... _Sherlock thought to herself, lying on the carpeted floor. She suddenly got an idea and pulled a bobby pin out of her hair. Half of her ponytail fell down, but she succeeded in picking the lock without the use of a mallet. She finally unlocked the door and ran out of the closet into a woman about three years older with curly brown hair and dark sunglasses.

"I was wondering who was making all that noise," she commented, only sounding slightly annoyed. Sherlock looked up at her, considering she was shorter than everyone that stayed at the mansion.

"Well, I'm Sherlock Holmes. And you are...?"

She raised one eyebrow and held out her fist, which Sherlock happily hit with hers, jumping back and making explosion sounds until she hit the wall. "Charlie," the woman replied, concerned. "Are you okay, kid?"

"I'm perfectly fine. And I am 25, thank you very much," Sherlock replied, sticking her chin in the air.

"Well, that doesn't make you any taller." Sherlock glared at Charlie, not at all amused. "Look, my room is right next door, the one at the very end of the hall. Try not to have too many problems, 'kay?"

"Um, alright then. Nice meeting you, Charlie." Charlie gave a small smile and then left to go downstairs.

"I bet I could survive just another day..."

* * *

**A/N: Well, that's that. So, CBuscus doesn't know how to sign out.**

_**SO IT'S TIMES LIKE THESE I WONDER HOW I TAKE IT. AND IF OTHER AUTHOR'S LIVE THE WAY I DO-as in, stuck with JC**_

**Well screw you.**

_**I am the one who loved you.  
I am the one who stayed.  
I am the one and you walked away**_

_**...hi dad**_

**NO IM GONNA CRY NOW. **

**-JC, THE ONE WHO IS CRYING**

**-****_and CBuscus...the one who is evil...and has never signed off before...and loves Broadway music.._**

**AND WHOSE HANDS JUST GOT RIPPED OFF THE KEYS MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA TIME TO LISTEN TO FUNNY YOUTUBE VIDEOS GOODBYE**


	2. The Break

**A/N: At least this chapter contains OTP.**

* * *

**ONWARD!**

* * *

Charlie walked down the stairs, looking slightly hung over. "Did you meet Sherlock?" Mike asked, still not used to saying that name. Charlie walked over to the sink and got a glass of water.

"You betcha... what kind of a name is Sherlock anyways?" Sam shrugged.

"I call her Redcoat," she said with a smirk. Mike just rolled his eyes and went back to eating his carrots. Johnny walked in, holding the knob though several feet from the door.

"Does someone want to explain what happened to the door?" Charlie pointed upstairs.

"The newbie's here."

"So... Bruce Banner is part of the DEA now?"

"Actually, it's a really hyper 25 year old British girl who beat the door with a mallet which she had in her suitcase... and she's with the FBI and therefore, your problem," Sam said, laughing. Johnny sighed.

"She's 25 and British... I guess this will be... interesting." Mike raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively, which caused everyone else to laugh. DJ pushed the door open with his index finger and walked in.

"Where's the door knob?" Johnny realized he was still holding it.

"This looks bad, doesn't it?"

"You do realize Briggs is going to kill you, right?"

"It wasn't Johnny," Sam said from the table. "It was Redcoat- I mean the new kid. She bashed it in with a sledgehammer or whatever."

"Oh right, we got a new guy today," DJ said, walking to the fridge.

"A new _girl_," Charlie corrected him, causing him to groan.

"Isn't two enough?"

"Isn't two of what enough?" Briggs walked through the door. Everyone froze and looked at Briggs. "What?" Then he looked at the door and noticed the door knob was missing. "Who broke the door?!" Everyone looked at Johnny, who dropped the doorknob and pointed upstairs.

"The newbie did, I swear," he said.

Briggs stared at the ceiling and then made his way up the stairs. "HOLMES!"

"Okay seriously, that child needs a new name," Sam said.

Sherlock stuck her head out of the door and smiled brightly at Briggs. "Yes sir?"

"Did you break the door?"

"Yes sir. I will fix it, though." Briggs gave her a very confused look. He had expected her to lie or at least make up some sort of excuse.

"Yes, you will." Sherlock simply nodded and went back to unpacking. Briggs stood at the doorway for a second but then went back downstairs.

"I took care of it," he said when he got back to the kitchen.

* * *

"Holmes! Get down here!" Briggs called from the command room on the second floor. The rest of the Graceland family had yet to come up with a new name for Sherlock. Sam was very partial to Redcoat, but that was her thing. Everyone had finally figured out about who Sherlock was after knowing her for at least three weeks.

She was energetic, childish, trusting, and very loving. She didn't like to be bothered at night. She got in bed early, but went to sleep extremely late. She liked to wear Converse, which looked rather odd with the trenchcoats she normally wore. She could be classified as a hipster, but she had no idea what that meant, so the other agents never even brought it up.

Sherlock's door swung open and she walked out of the room quietly, which was a strange occurrence.

"You okay?" Charlie asked from her spot at the computer. Sherlock nodded and shoved her hands into the pockets of her newly bought red jacket, which had been a gift from Sam. She loved it, which was the exact opposite of what Sam intended. Briggs did not notice the change that much and chose to ignore it. A quiet Sherlock was a good Sherlock. He pointed to the screen which showed a man lying on the cold hard ground of a parking garage.

"This," he said, "is your first assignment." He expected Sherlock to be jumping up and down with joy, but she just stood there and stared at the screen.

"Wonderful," she said monotonously. "When do we start?"

"Now," he said. "Mike is going to take you down to the scene of the crime and you're gonna work your magic, 'kay?" Sherlock remembered when she was on the plane and the boy behind her thought she was Hermione, which made her smile slightly.

"Alright, then. I can do that. Come along, Mike." Mike stood up from his chair and followed Sherlock downstairs, grabbing the keys off of the counter on the way out the now fixed door. Sherlock sat down in the driver's seat just like the first day. Mike stood patiently outside the door. She looked up to face him. "Well? Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to give me the blasted keys?" He looked slightly taken aback.

"E-excuse me?"

"Why can't I drive?" She held out her hand expectantly. "I've been watching you and your partners for a few weeks now. So... would you give me the keys?"

"Well... are you sure?" She glared at him and he immediately surrendered the keys, sitting in the passenger's seat. She shakily started the car. Whether she was mad or upset was anybody's guess. Mike chose to leave it alone and watched her pull out of the driveway. "Don't you think that's a little too fast?"

"No."

"You don't even know where you're going," Mike protested.

"Yes I do. That's what the GPS is for, _isn't it_?"

"Well, I mean I guess... if we had a GPS."

"There's one on my cell phone." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a smartphone.

"Are you positive that you can drive an American car?"

"Program the bloody GPS. I know how to drive." Mike took the smartphone out of her hands and searched for the GPS icon. Once he found it, he reached out to touch it, but they hit a bump and his index finger hit the square above it that read "Messages". He was about to go back, but he already saw the word "Isaac".

"Hey, you never told us about Isaac," he said, thinking of nothing but small talk. She nearly swerved off of the road and yanked the phone out of his hands. She looked at the screen to see her conversation with her now ex-boyfriend pulled up.

"You were reading my text messages?!" She nearly screamed. Mike tried to say something, but she cut him off. "Don't you _dare_ read my messages. Do you understand?"

"I-I... Yes! Keep your eyes on the road!" She looked back at the road, panting heavily. Mike clutched tightly to the armrest of his seat. He heard a small sniff and looked over just in time to see Sherlock reach up and wipe her eyes. "Are you okay?" She didn't even look at him.

"Leave me alone." He sighed and shook his head, leaning against the window. "Will you..." She sniffed again. "Will you please turn on the GPS?" She handed him her phone again and he nodded.

"Sure."

"Thank you, love." He rolled his eyes.

"If you keep calling me that, people are going to get the wrong idea." Sherlock sighed and sniffed rather loudly.

"Sorry, Mike."

"Do you need a tissue?" She simply nodded and he handed her a few tissues. The rest of the drive was silent, save for the sounds of Sherlock blowing her nose and her infrequent sniffles. "Hey, I'm sorry about whatever happened-"

"No. I don't want to talk about it, alright?"

"Okay..." Mike trailed off. A sly smile came upon Mike's face. "Uh, the GPS says to turn left up here..." he lied. She was going so fast that she skidded left, the tires screeching as she did. "GOOD LORD, SLOW _DOWN!_"

"Alright, alright, sorry!" she replied. "Now where do I go?!"

"Okay, now you turn right. And for the last time, slow down the car!"

Sherlock turned into the Baskin Robbins parking lot and gave Mike a weird look. "The murder was in an ice cream parlor?"

"No," he replied with a smirk.

"Well, why are we here, then? We have a job to do!"

"I don't know what you call it in Britain, but here, we call ice cream 'comfort food.' And that is exactly what you need right now."

"What I need right now is to go to the crime scene!" Sherlock protested.

"You are going to park right here and I am buying you an ice cream cone. Do you understand?" Mike demanded. Sherlock awkwardly nodded, parking the car. Mike hopped out, went around, and opened the door for Sherlock.

"What was that for?" Sherlock questioned, stepping out of the car.

"I'm just being nice. Calm down, McGruff the Crime Dog." She looked extremely confused. "You know what? Don't even worry about it." He took her hand and walked her into the store. Well, he really dragged her in, because she was too busy blushing like a fool. He pulled her to the front counter. "What would you like?"

"Um... Surprise me."

"Okay then," he turned to the woman behind the counter. "Two chocolate ice creams." She smiled sweetly at him and Sherlock felt a strong, painful feeling hit her in the gut. She decided to push it aside, not really knowing what that feeling was. He smiled back and they started a conversation about something unimportant and Sherlock focused on the music playing in the small shop.

It sounded rather familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

_I knew you were trouble when you walked in…_

_So shame on me now…_

She started humming along with the music. _Hmm,_ she thought, _This is really catchy._

"Um, Sherlock? Sherlock?" Mike waved his hand in front of the small girl's face. She snapped to attention and stared at him.

"Yes?"

"Here you go." He handed her a cone of chocolate ice cream.

"Oh, are you two dating?" the small blonde asked. Sherlock gulped and yanked her hand from Mike's.

"Uh, no, no!" she stammered.

"Oh… You two would make a cute couple." the girl replied softly. Mike gave a soft chuckle and shook his head at Sherlock's panic while she stood there, eyes wide and face red.

"Thanks..." He took Sherlock's hand again. "But we are just friends." Sherlock felt as though she had just swallowed a brick. Had she just been friendzoned?

"Uh… c-can we go now?" Mike smiled and waved to the woman behind the counter before taking Sherlock out to the car. "Um, that was… uh… eventful." Sherlock glanced down at their still-joined hands and her cheeks reddened even more than before. Mike opened up the passenger door and gestured Sherlock in. She got in, not even caring that she was not driving this time.

She awkwardly started eating the ice cream, sneaking glances at Mike every so often. He looked at her and laughed, immediately causing Sherlock to feel a little bit self-conscious.

"What is it?"

"You've just… You've got ice cream all over you!" Mike laughed.

"Oh my gosh, that is so embarrassing!" Sherlock said, covering up her face with her hands.

"That's alright, I'll get it." Mike leaned across the middle of the car and pulled some baby wipes out of the console. He pulled her hands away from her face, wiping the chocolate off her cheeks and nose. "How do you get ice cream on your nose?"

"I'm not really sure." Sherlock gave a soft laugh. She was amazed by how easy it was to talk to Mike, even when she was really embarrassed.

"That's kind of strange… But cute." By now, Sherlock was sure she was redder than a tomato. Mike pulled out another wipe and started to wipe the chocolate off her lips.

"Um… Thank you, love," she nearly whispered.

Sherlock just sat there, staring at Mike as he gently touched her cheek. When he finished, his eyes met hers and they sat in a comfortable silence for what seemed like an eternity. His hand gingerly stroked her cheek as she chewed on her lower lip nervously. He scanned her face, taking in every detail of her façade. His eyes fell on her lips and then back to her eyes. He studied her for a minute and then hesitantly got closer. He stopped just inches from her face. "You know," Mike said, sounding like he was in a trance, "If you keep calling me that, people are going to… get the wrong idea." Sherlock nodded wordlessly. Gaining courage, he leaned in faster. Their lips crashed and Sherlock let out a tiny surprised squeak.

She leaned into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

When they pulled apart, Sherlock's face was red and Mike was wearing a goofy grin.

"We're here," he said quietly. She smiled and giggled slightly. They examined the crime scene quickly. Sherlock and Mike both found it faintly hard to stay serious.

"Well, you certainly know how to cheer a girl up," Sherlock said, once the couple got back in the car. Mike grinned. "So… Does this mean we're… ah…"

"Yes, it does." Mike got a warm feeling in his chest when Sherlock smiled. "I love your smile." He started to drive back to the house. He took one of his hands off of the wheel in order to hold her hand. "So… Who's-"

"Isaac was my boyfriend. He had the nerve to break up with me over a text message." Mike gently squeezed his girlfriend's hand. That made him so happy. _Girlfriend. _He'd been waiting to call her that for weeks.

"I'm really sorry, Sherlock."

"It doesn't really matter any more." Sherlock smiled at her boyfriend. Calling Mike that gave her chills. _My boyfriend._ She could imagine getting so smitten that she would start doodling _Sherlock Warren _in the margins of her notebooks.

* * *

Sherlock was jolted back into reality from her book when she heard a loud knock on her door. "Come in, it's unlocked!" Mike poked his head into her room and she grinned. "Oh, hi there."

"Whoa! You're… whoa! You wear glasses?!" Her cheeks turned pink and she straightened her thick-rimmed glasses.

"Yes, Mike. My eyesight is rather dreadful, actually." Mike rolled his eyes. _That was the most British sentence I have ever heard,_ he thought.

"So… What are you reading?" Sherlock sighed and set her book down in her lap.

"It's called Virals. By Kathy Reichs. It's a really, really spectacular book." Mike smiled and sat next to her.

"Do you sit awake and read all night?" Sherlock nodded.

"Normally, I go to sleep really late. That's honestly why I'm so tired all of the time." Mike took her book out of her hands and sat on it.

"Well, you're sleeping tonight. Got it?" Sherlock rolled her eyes and rested her head on Mike's shoulder.

"Alright, not like I'm at the best part in my book. It's all good. I'm not totally excited about what's going to happen…" Mike grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Good. I guess that it'll be easier for you to sleep, then."

"But I'm at the best part in my book!" she whined.

"Oh, go to sleep," he teased her. "Are you over Isaac yet?" he asked as she snuggled into his side.

"Of course I am! I've got you." She yawned loudly. "I guess the break isn't really as bad as I thought it would be."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This is JC, coming to you live from my bedroom, where I am freaking exhausted.**

**-JC, the one who is about to just fall asleep on her laptop.**


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